


Doppelganger

by HolmesianDeduction (orphan_account)



Category: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011), Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy - All Media Types, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy - John Le Carré
Genre: Doppelganger, M/M, North Africa, Peter Guillam - Freeform, Pre-Canon, Spoilers, well sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 15:32:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/HolmesianDeduction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Peter's North African network is blown, no one knows whether he is alive or dead, including Bill.</p><p>A picture prompt fill inspired by <a href="http://sevenpercentsolutions.tumblr.com/post/35694655722/image-prompt-by-the-lemon-is-in-play">this image</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doppelganger

             When Peter Guillam’s network in North Africa was blown, the Circus turned into a hive of frantic activity.  The network, nestled in what was by and large considered to be murderous territory, had been the most successful network anyone had managed to run in that particular niche of the world, but now a whole string of agents was dead and no one had the slightest idea what had happened, nor of the exact whereabouts of Guillam himself, who - it appeared - had evaded capture, but was currently either dead or underground and attempting to flee back to England.  Amidst the mad scramble, only two men remained calm: George Smiley and Bill Haydon.  Smiley because that was his way - few people had ever seen him in any state of freneticness.  Haydon - known for his outbursts of manic anger - was calm because he already had all of the answers.

             No one noticed either, when Bill slipped out for the night.  ”He had done all he could,” it would probably be said later, “Until there was word from Guillam, nothing could be made certain.”  Other people would still be disapproving, citing his close friendship with Peter’s mother as a reason that he should have stayed.  All the same, Bill slipped away into the evening and rather than return home, he found himself slipping into a pub near his flat.

             He had been there almost an hour when he saw him across the bar.  At first glance, Bill had felt his heart drop - thinking that the tall blond was Peter, escaped from Africa in his socks and picking up a pint before showing his face - but then he relaxed as the man looked up at him.  It wasn’t Peter after all, simply someone who bore a striking resemblance; in any case, it would have been entirely unlike Peter to do anything other than report to London Station the moment he set foot on English soil.  Across from him, the man had cocked his head, and it took Bill a moment to realise that it was intended for him.  Seized by a sudden whim, Bill cocked an eyebrow and smiled, taking another sip from his glass as the man slid down the bar towards him.

             His name was Pierce and he was from out of town.  ”Visiting old classmates,” he had said somewhere between their fifth round of drinks and his back hitting the stiff old motel mattress.  His name was Pierce, and while he bore a striking resemblance, he was, Bill decided, very much _not_ Peter Guillam.  It was Pierce who broke the silence first as they laid side by side on the still-made bed.

             ”What’s your story then?”

             Bill didn’t respond except in the form of a mildly inquisitive noise, lighting a cigarette with an ornate silver lighter.

             ”I saw the look on your face when you saw me - like you’d swallowed a wasp.  Why me?”

             Bill was silent for a long moment, and then, taking a long drag on the cigarette, he answered.  ”You look like someone.”

             ”Old flame?”

             Bill laughed.  ”I wouldn’t call it that, exactly, but if you like, yes.”

             ”What happened?  You two break it off?”

             There was another long silence, and then, almost thoughtfully: “I think he might be dead, actually.”

             They lapsed back into silence, and eventually Pierce decided that he was probably going to be late for something that he had forgotten about.  Bill let the obvious lie slide; he wasn’t interested in staying either, but all the same he accompanied the other man out and leaned in the doorway as he walked away - the man who wasn’t Peter Guillam at all, but looked just enough like him to give Bill a start, and he wondered faintly if the actual article was still alive out there somewhere in Morocco, using every trick in his considerable arsenal - most of which he learned from Bill - to evade capture or worse.

             Four days later, Peter Guillam arrived at London Station in his socks, his face drawn and surprisingly pale, all things considered, and Bill had thought that he looked rather good for a man who had just endured the complete collapse of his best network and evaded a manhunt.


End file.
